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The Sun Shines
My feet propel me forward into the Great Hall, noting the shattered remains of what used to be the grandest room in the castle. Rocks everywhere. Piles upon piles of debris. The sickening reality of the day’s events washes over me with such startling clarity that I need to place a hand on the nearest pillar to keep my knees from buckling.
Using this leverage, I scan every single face as people pass by. Though many are familiar, the study brings forward the realization that I don’t know every single witch or wizard in the community. Every single person here fought valiantly, many of whom weren’t as lucky as I was to make it through.
Many of them I will never get another chance to know.
Panic rises within me. I don’t care that my feet are barely making it through, aching with the need to actually sit down for the first time in over a day. I need to find him. I need to see him.
My gaze darts from person to person, unfocused, desperately seeking the one face that I know I will be able to recognize even if provided zero information other than his signature hair color. The search requires me to stand on my toes, irritation prickling at the edges of my already thinned patience.
Why did I ever let him out of my sight? Blast my need to use the lavatory.
Before I can slide completely into a depth of despair that would be entirely too dramatic, even with the day that we’ve already had, my eyes snap into focus and the knot in my wand finally loosens the tiniest bit.
There he is.
I follow Ron as he lifts his head, his eyes flickering around the room—almost frantically—as if he, too, is searching for someone.
Then he finds me.
Suddenly I’m rooted in place, like I’ve been hit with a sticking charm, unable to propel my feet forward. Ron’s eyes close briefly, and when he opens them again, his brows are much more relaxed and there is a glint of something. Although I’m far enough away not to hear him, his mouth parts the slightest bit, as if releasing a breath he had been holding.
He looks…relieved.
It’s this moment that I remember to focus on my own breathing, controlling the shallow exhales leaving my mouth. Which is difficult to do, considering how Ron's eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart threaten to skip a beat.
This look is the look. The one that most can only dream to be the recipient of at least once in a single lifetime, full of unspoken thoughts and simmering emotions. His gaze burns into mine with an unwavering ferocity.
The notion tugs at my heart, a knot of emotion catching near the base of my throat. He’s grown so much, once a boy now transformed into a man. To see him still standing here in front of me, after years of bickering over homework, existing in the same space as friends, longing for more, perhaps—
And then Ron’s moving in my direction with deliberate, yet unhurried, steps. An unspoken agreement propels me forward as well, the anticipation of finding him and being near him sparking a new flame inside of me. He doesn’t seem to know how to blink, which makes me wonder…do I know how? I can’t seem to want to test that theory, though, not even for a millisecond.
The stretch of space shrinks between us bit by bit. Ron parts his way through the crowd silently, but somehow he’s still communicating everything to me, without having uttered a single word. Neither of us seems willing to break as our eyes stay locked in a silent battle—not unlike our typical rows. I’m desperate to remain anchored to this moment, to something that feels real amidst the chaos. He must be feeling the same.
Not quite sure how I’m mustering up the energy for walking, much less the endurance of whatever this is, but I am.
Ron and I take our final steps towards each other, standing face to face. It’s suddenly clear to me that we have officially turned to a new chapter in our story. The one that we’ve been writing for many years now. It’s a paralyzing clarity, one that I’m ready to surrender myself to, despite my trembling hands betraying the fear that comes with the realization that nothing will ever quite be the same again.
As my mouth prepares to open, words spill out of his.
“I love you.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
Now. He says this now. He took the risk, the chance that we might not have made it this far to even say these three little words. So did I. He’s still talking just as my brain begins to process that this is the moment and he’s staring at me with the look and I am entirely overwhelmed to think or do anything other than the one single thing I’ve been craving again and fighting for ever since our too brief moment in the Room of Requirement.
“I just needed to tell you that. There’s so much—I reckon I could say so much more, but I dunno, I’ve never quite known the right words. You know me.” He pats himself down, with his arms outstretched, as if he's got nothing left to hide. “But that’s what I’ve got. Maybe after a shower, and some food, my energy will-”
I jump into his arms and crash my lips against his before Ron can even finish his sentence. It takes him less than a second to respond, pulling me close with a fierceness that makes my toes curl. My hands grip his shirt so tightly that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let him go.
Gone are the days of concealing our feelings. I can love him openly, without a care in the world as to who is watching or fear of those who might have tried to use our relationship against us. I’m positively euphoric, lost in the sensation of his lips pressed against mine—the warmth of his body, his calloused hands holding me steady, anchoring us to this moment in time together.
When we break apart, Ron lets out a trembling laugh, pressing his forehead against mine. “Bloody Hell, when are you going to let me do that first?”
“Never, if I have my way.”
“You often do.”
A magnificent grin rises up my cheeks as I breathe him in. This moment, even with the dust of the past still lingering, is as close to a perfect start to our future as I could have ever imagined. I’ll never forget it.
“I love you, too, if it isn’t obvious by now.”
“Should’ve been years ago to us, I reckon.” Ron chuckles, capturing my lips in another quick kiss before adding, “Better late than never.”
He draws me closer. As I lean in, a figure in the distance catches my eye over his shoulder. It’s Molly Weasley, standing a few paces behind us—watching, silently, with a softness in her eyes that confirms she witnessed our entire exchange. When I meet her glistening gaze, she smiles with a fondness that can’t be mistaken.
Yes. We can love openly. After all, what did we just fight for?
When I imagined the trajectory it would take to meet someone, someone that I’d like to date, I never would have imagined a journey like this one. Rooted in something real, something that has been growing for many years.
Through the cracks in the weathered castle, the sun shines.
All To Myself
I can hear him, feel him, before I open my eyes to finally see him.
It's the weight shifting as he lays on the mattress that alerts me awake. The soft pad of his thumb drawing circles on my outer forearm. I must have fallen asleep with it curled over my face. That simple touch sends a shiver up my spine as my senses blur into focus.
My eyes blink open to find Ron staring back at me. His presence fills me instantly with a quiet, overwhelming joy only reserved for him. I try to smile while simultaneously struggling to keep my eyelids from drooping closed again. How late is it? An earthy wave of fresh shampoo hits my nostrils, and I notice that Ron’s hair is damp from a recent shower.
“M'sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I just—is this okay?”
The timid question has me fighting back laughter. Of course it’s okay, I want to shout at him, but I also recognize that this closeness isn’t exactly normal for us yet. Instead of verbalizing an answer, I lift the covers just enough for him to slide his feet all the way in. He inches closer to me on the tiny poster bed. If circumstances were different, we’d muse over the lack of space. Not a chance now that I will complain over him stealing a portion of my bed.
Relief, mixed with a decent chunk of exhaustion, clouds Ron’s features. He swallows, and the look in his eyes is enough for me to scoot my body closer, cupping his cheeks. Ron's fingers curl into my massive mop of hair that I had pulled up into a messy bun before sliding into bed. With our foreheads nearly touching, I breathe out a content sigh—content with this moment, here with Ron. To be safe and still, basking in the quiet without any sense of urgency to do something.
I slide one hand down to curl over the fabric of Ron’s shirt. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassures me—he is here, alive, we’re together, and there is a future ahead waiting for us. Wordlessly, he interlocks his fingers with mine. It’s a tentative touch, like he’s unsure if I’ll pull away. There’s not a chance that I will.
“I got your note.” Ron’s voice is rough, scratchy, overused from the monumental day we’ve had. “I would've been up here sooner… I just—with Mum and Dad, I couldn’t…”
My hand is squeezing his before he can even finish. “It's okay. I wish there was more I could have done to help.”
“This.” His lips gently brush against my knuckles. “Reckon this is enough.”
The softness of his touch, the raw emotion behind his words, makes my chest ache in the best possible way. When everything else in the world still seems so uncertain, I can remain anchored to him and let the hum of the world dissolve away. Even if just for a brief period in time.
“Where's Harry?” I ask, not wanting to break our bubble but also unable to hide my concern for our friend that undoubtedly needs more rest than even we could at this moment.
“Walking around the castle with Ginny, last I saw.”
“He really should sleep.”
“He will, Hermione. He will. Right now though, m'not too mad about having you all to myself.”
A warmth swells through me. It’s a renewed sense of peace with Ron, no longer carrying the burden of unspoken words. We’re free now to finally share what’s been on our hearts, to imagine a future that hours ago we weren’t even sure we would get to have together.
As pleasant as it is to make that realization, I don’t feel the pull to think ahead just yet.
I shift to my other side, allowing my back to settle against Ron’s chest. He slides an arm around my waist, pulling me against him so that I can nestle into the curve of his warmth. I can feel his chin on my head, his breath mingling into my hair, slow and steady. My eyes flutter closed, and it’s the most relaxed I think I have ever been.
“A lot of firsts for us today,” I gently murmur.
“Is it still the same day?” His voice is low, mumbling into my hair. “Maybe it’s morning. I’ve lost track of time.”
And what a blessing that is, to be able to lose track of time. The world finally seems quiet, even if only for a little while.
Missing You
Even the Burrow at Christmastime can do nothing to lift Ron’s sour mood.
The warmth from the crackling fireplace isn’t enough to quell the cold. The exuberant amount of holly and tinsel is more irritating than usual, making it difficult for him to view the decorations as anything but clutter. An aroma of cinnamon and sugar-filled spices from the kitchen wafts through the room, a familiar scent that usually provides Ron with an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia for previous holidays, but now only makes his stomach growl in protest.
He mindlessly chews on a biscuit from the near empty tin at the kitchen table, not caring the slightest about the plethora of crumbs landing in his lap. Rolling out his tense shoulders, Ron mutters under his breath.
“Where does she get off…it’s not my fault…utterly ridiculous….”
It takes his mum swatting him on the shoulder with a flannel to snap out of his misery.
“No more biscuits!”
“Sorry, Mum.”
Molly Weasley rounds the table, leaning against an unoccupied chair as she plops a firm hand on her hip. “I thought you were going to be arriving with Hermione?”
“If she wants to show up, she knows how to find her way.”
“Ronald Weasley.” He winces, not in the mood for another lecture. “What exactly has gotten into you?”
Ron stands at the table, exhaling a loud breath. “It’s nothing, Mum. I’ll go check on Hermione.”
“You best do that. Our guests should be arriving soon.”
With one last disapproving look she hurries out of the room, leaving Ron with a final moment of peace before he figures out what the bloody hell he’s going to do or say to his girlfriend who is, apparently, furious with him. He shovels one more biscuit in his mouth before quickly brushing the evidence from his fingers.
The fireplace roars to life, alerting Ron that someone is arriving via floo. His stomach clenches with an unsettling lurch. Maybe he should have followed his mum’s advice on the biscuits.
Ron walks into the room just as Hermione is stepping out of the hearth, brushing soot from her jumper. He waits with bated breath, any signal from her that she’s ready to explain her earlier mood, but she meets his eyes with the same icy cold demeanor that she exhibited towards him just mere hours before. Instead of uttering a single word, Hermione turns on her heel and marches away.
Harry—who also came into the room to greet Hermione and had the unfortunate pleasure of bearing witness to the tense exchange—mutters an awkward, “Er, hi, Hermione…” as she brushes past him. She at least has the decency to give him a small wave before bolting up the stairs.
Ron winces, meeting Harry’s weary eyes. “Yeah, I better…”
A sympathetic pat lands on Ron’s shoulder as he strides by Harry to follow Hermione’s angry trail.
“Good luck, brother.”
He’s going to need it.
The first sight he happens upon when he reaches the top of the stairs and pushes open the door to his childhood bedroom is Hermione pacing back and forth, apparently determined to exhaust the already worn floorboards.
“Fine.” Ron slams the door shut behind him, sealing it in place with a locking charm. “You clearly have something to say, so have at it then.”
Hermione pushes a curl out of her face with one angry swipe, pinning him with a glare that he hasn’t seen since he returned to the Horcrux hunt last year. It’s not one that he was eager to ever see again.
“You are the most exasperating person I have ever met, Ron Weasley!”
With an inward eye roll, one that he wouldn’t dare let Hermione see, he sighs. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m unreasonable? You are the one that has spent an unreasonable amount of time in the gym training with Harry for almost the entirety of the holiday. Here I was, expecting to come home from Hogwarts to spend some much needed time with my boyfriend, only to find you sparsely available.”
Ron’s brows furrow in confusion. What? He couldn’t have guessed what she was upset about, but he wasn’t expecting this.
“So instead of talking calmly with me about it, you leave me in the bloody dark and decide to give me the silent treatment all morning? We could’ve had the whole day together, Hermione! Isn’t that what you want?”
‘I don’t just want one day with you, Ron. And certainly not just a day that we’re meant to be sharing with your family as well.” She lowers her voice, likely aware of the other Weasleys no doubt listening in. “I love them, but I was also hoping to have some time with you. Alone.”
Ron’s shoulders soften, releasing some of the tension that he’s been holding onto all morning. “Merlin, Hermione, I didn’t know you felt like that.”
She finally stops moving, instead opting to lean against the wall and twist the hem of her jumper with her fingers. “Yeah. I guess I thought I was being more obvious than I apparently was.”
The argument deflates there, leaving a heavy silence in the air as Ron mulls over what exactly to say next. He runs a hand through his hair, breath unsteady. He’s been so tired lately, physically pushing himself to the limits, and for what? It only seems to be causing unnecessary stress and hurting his relationship with the person who matters most to him.
“I just—I’m working really hard because I need to prove myself, Hermione.” Ron’s voice cracks with relief, finally allowing himself to be honest about how he is feeling.
A worried crease forms on Hermione’s brows. She steps forward, arms crossed. “What do you need to prove, Ron? We spent an entire year searching for Horcruxes together and fought valiantly against Voldemort and you still think you need to prove how strong and capable you are? You must know that. Please tell me you know that.”
“I'm not talking about the hunt, Hermione.”
“Then just what exactly are you going on about?”
“I'm talking about you. You are bloody brilliant and I-I just want to prove that I am good enough, you know? That I can take care of you.”
She recoils then, struck by his words with apparent surprise. Ron’s cheeks warm, realization setting in that he probably shared too much. He should stop here before he embarrasses himself any further.
But the way she is looking at him…he doesn’t think he needs to be embarrassed at all.
Hermione timidly smiles at him before fixating on a spot on the floor, a painful expression morphing over her face. She seems to be searching for her next words. Although Ron doesn’t envy the uncertainty that she must be feeling, he can also breathe a bit more knowing that he isn’t the only vulnerable one in this room.
“I just thought maybe we had spent too much time apart. The time we shared before I left for school—that it just seemed like it wasn't enough anymore.”
He stares at her for a long second, trying to comprehend how she got to that insane conclusion. She couldn’t possibly believe that he…
“Hermione.” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You have to know that isn't true. Furthest bloody thing from it. I can't stop thinking about you. Why do you think I've been training so hard? I've told you that I’m doing this for us, to prove that-”
“But I don't want all of that!” Hermione rushes forward, gripping his arms with a steady, warm touch. “I don't need it. I just need you.”
She tilts her head up to meet his gaze, blinking back tears. “I missed you.”
That does him in. He lifts one hand to cup Hermione’s cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb across her skin. Her breath hitches from the touch, thrilling Ron that he can elicit such a reaction from her.
“I missed you like crazy.” Ron’s forehead collapses against hers as he whispers, “You’re mine for the rest of hols.”
A whimper escapes Hermione’s lips, and he’s just about to close any remaining distance—
Thump thump thump.
An urgent pounding on the door startles the pair apart. Irritation flares through every part of Ron’s body. His family truly has a knack for interrupting at the worst possible moment.
“Oi’” Ginny's voice shrieks from the other side. “It got suspiciously quiet up here. Mum wants you both downstairs anyway, it's almost time for presents.”
“Sure.” Ron huffs out through clenched teeth. “Cause that's the only reason she wants us downstairs instead of alone up here.”
Hermione's cheeks flush. She gives him a little shove before reaching back for the handle. “Ron…”
Not a chance he is going to let her go that easy. Ron wraps a hand around her waist, bringing her mouth to his before she can open the door. Hermione melts into the kiss almost immediately, deepening it without a single hum of protest, to Ron's delight.
A tut of disgust filters through the hallway as Ginny's footsteps retreat. Ron laughs against Hermione's lips, stealing one more quick kiss before stepping back.
“After you, Hermione Granger.”
With flushed cheeks, she grins up at him. “Happy Christmas, Ron Weasley.”
The happiest indeed.